


Morning Glory

by Xedra



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn with Feelings, smut with feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xedra/pseuds/Xedra
Summary: Greg shuffles into Mycroft's kitchen, blinking his sleepy eyes against the light pouring in from the large bay windows. He's barefoot, bare chested, pajama bottoms ride low on his hips, hair a wild mess as he scratches at his scruffy chin.





	Morning Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Jay Tomlinson for their beta help! (((HUGS)))  
> Forgive the title - I suck at titles - but this popped into my head and would not go away, LOL!

Greg shuffles into Mycroft's kitchen, blinking his sleepy eyes against the light pouring in from the large bay windows.

He's barefoot, bare chested, pajama bottoms ride low on his hips, hair a wild mess as he scratches at his scruffy chin.

His jaw cracks on a yawn as he pours himself a cup of coffee. He leans back against the counter and cradles the mug in his hands as he lifts it to his face to inhale the aroma of a truly excellent blend.

The first sip draws a pleasured moan from his throat and as the jolt of caffeine hits his system, he glances over at Mycroft...

... who is sitting frozen in place in the neat little breakfast nook of his kitchen - eyes wide, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, his hand paused halfway to his mouth where it had been holding a piece of toast which has fallen unnoticed to his lap.

Greg takes another slow sip then sets the mug down and pushes away from the counter, eyes locked on Mycroft's.

He steps over to the table and leans a hip against it. Mycroft hasn't moved an inch, other than to tilt his head back as Greg moves closer.

Greg wraps his fingers around Mycroft's wrist and lifts hand, pulling a jam-smeared thumb into his mouth. Mycroft inhales sharply at the sensation and swallows thickly against a suddenly dry throat.

Greg gives a quick nip to the tip of his thumb before releasing Mycroft's hand, where it thumps limply into his lap, sending the toast to the floor.

Greg looks down at his jam-stained lap and grins, "You've ruined your trousers."

Mycroft's mouth opens and closes in an attempt to respond, but the rumpled, bed-warm, cheeky as hell man standing so tantalizingly close has left him without thought, let alone words.

Greg slides his forearms over Mycroft's shoulders and grabs the back of his chair, opening his legs wide to step right up and straddle Mycroft's thighs.

He leans down and practically purrs in his ear, ""Let's ruin mine, too, yeah?"

Mycroft shudders right down to his bones and suddenly comes alive.

His arms lock around Greg's waist and pull him down hard onto his lap. His speechless mouth latches onto Greg's throat and sucks a bruise under his jaw, making Greg groan and grind his pelvis down, his thickening length meets an already hard one that is straining in Mycroft's bespoke trousers.

Mycroft smooths his hands up the broad expanse of Greg's back and grip his shoulders as Greg starts to licks and nibbles at his ear, causing him to gasp. Pleasure sparks down his spine and throbs in his groin as Greg rubs persistently against him.

Their chests heave against each other, dragging in breaths, only to release them in moans and guttural curses. This is going to be quick and neither of them care one bit.

Mycroft sweeps his graceful hands over Greg's chest, pressing against the muscles, adoring the way they jumped at his touch. His thumbs flick over the small brown nipples and Greg arches against him with a gasp.

Greg pulls back enough to release the chair from his white-knuckled grip and take Mycroft's face in his palms, lifting it to see those sharp blue eyes that are now glazed over with passion. The want, the need for this man is a brutal thing, driving him on harder, faster.

"So close," Greg breathes against his mouth, his body tight and aching. "We are so, so close."

He can feel the pads of each of Mycroft's fingers as they rake hard down his back and dive under his pajamas, clutching at his bare arse and it's almost too much. Their leaking cocks have soaked the layers of cloth between them, the friction a delicious burn.

"Come on, gorgeous," he urges, his tongue flicking over Mycroft's lips, tasting, teasing. "Come with me."

Mycroft surges up and claims Greg's mouth fully, his tongue thrusting in the same furious rhythm as their rutting hips, wanting nothing more than to claim every inch, every single cell of this man. The taste of him, the feel of him, the exquisite delight of all that is Gregory Lestrade to be his and his alone. 

The peak of his pleasure hits him suddenly like a tidal wave that he feels all the way down to his toes and he groans, burying his face against Greg's throat.

Greg gasps, "Oh! Oh, fuck!" and follows him, his body shaking. His fingers slide into Mycroft's hair as his head falls back, his release pulsing out of him and stealing his breath. 

He falls forward and presses his forehead against Mycroft's, panting and reveling in the aftershocks of one intense orgasm. He can feel Mycroft's hands still clutching at him, his body shuddering beneath him as he comes down from his own climax. He shifts his weight back just a bit before the pressure on their cocks becomes uncomfortable. 

His fingers pet lazily through Mycroft's hair and he hears his name in a whisper against his cheek. 

He can tell by the sound that it's not a question, not a way of getting his attention, just his name on Mycroft's breath and it thrills his heart to hear it. He hums in acknowledgement and presses a kiss to the other man's forehead. 

He hears his name again and Greg strokes the tip of his nose down the long line of Mycroft's and kisses the tip of his nose. Cool, elegant hands sweep up and down the heated skin of his back and he hums again in appreciation.

It's all Mycroft can do to keep his arms around the man in his lap, plaint and weak as he is in the aftermath of such pleasure, but he simply cannot keep from touching him. He cannot seem to stop saying his name, over and over as his Gregory plants sweet, soft kisses over his cheeks and eyelids before returning at last to take his mouth again. 

When they part, Greg cocks an eyebrow down at Mycroft, "We've made a fine mess of ourselves, haven't we? Shower?"

Mycroft considers for only half a moment before countering. "Bath."

Greg grins, "Perfect." He stands and promptly drops his soiled pajama bottoms, stepping out of them and slinging them over his shoulder. He gives Mycroft a saucy wink and saunters back out of the kitchen.

Mycroft, dumbfounded, stares at his naked bum until it disappears around the doorway. He snatches up his phone from the table and shoots off a quick text to Anthea to reschedule everything for the day before tossing it aside and quickly following.


End file.
